Post-Graduate and Fancy Free

Well, "fancy free" is pretty much a lie...

But! I am thinking (again) about getting a post-graduate degree. More than thinking, actually: I've applied to grad school for next year, and in the coming weeks, I will hopefully hear back from those schools, which will most likely determine what I'll be doing next year.

I've applied to two programs at three different schools: Translation and Germanic Studies. I have a really hard time narrowing down my choices--last time I applied to grad school, I applied to two different courses of study as well, Comparative Literature and Journalism. Both were ultimately too competitive (or something--I did not end up pursuing those options, to say the least) and I have crossed law school off my list. I really didn't want to be a lawyer anyway. I need a career that's more...artsy-fartsy, shall we say?

Since this is the last year my GRE scores are valid (the last thing I want to do is take another standardized test put out by the Princeton Review), I figured it was now or never! I shall update with admissions results when they become available.

Les Contes d'Hoffmann

In September, the Opéra National de Paris put on one of my favorite operas, Les Contes d'Hoffmann by Jacques Offenbach. It "came" to La Ciotat recently as live-filmed version at the Cinéma Lumière.

I also saw a live performance last year in Vienna and another televised version at home on PBS (Great Performances at the Met, anyone?); after seeing three different versions, I have to say that seeing an opera live is the best of all possible worlds. Even if some of the characters are miscast and annoying at the theater, if you're watching a "filmed live" version from the comfort of your living room or an overpriced cinema seat (the freaking Paris version cost me 12€), it just isn't the same!

That said, there were a number of things I really enjoyed about the Opéra Bastille's version. The opera was directed by a Canadian, Robert Carsen, who did not have quite the grandiosity of mise en scène as Mr. Friedkin, the director in Vienna, nor the penchant for puppets; in the beginning, the stage is set bare-bones, with the eponymous character lying in a drunken stupor stage right--his muse arrives in Greek habit and sings to him. 

The muse, played by Kate Aldrich, was wonderful: a great combination of comedic and soulful, with a beautiful voice. Hoffmann, on the other hand, was horrifically miscast as a dumpy little Italian whose trilling "R"s got in the way of his singing. The imposing Franck Ferrari, cast as Lindorf, Hoffman's doppelgänger and evil side, was much more convincing--and one of the few times I didn't feel bad rooting for the villain rather than the hero.

The bare-bones set continued on through the opera--the Keller scene transformed into intermission at the opera, where Hoffmann awaits a glimpse of his beloved Stella. The Teutonic charm of the student pub Stammtisch was ruined for me by this posh, Franco-centric rive droite version. Blech. It was OK...but it lacked charm and an element of Faustian suspense that was certainly present in the dark, damp, Punsch-filled scene of Friedkin's direction.

The bare-bones set design annoyed me at first, but I've since forgiven, considering that Mr. Carsen got his start in Shakespeare, where less is more and more is silly. The Olympia act is the only one that deviated from this scheme, transforming the stage into a mad scientist's laboratory fit for Frankenstein. The coquettish Olympia, well-voiced by Jane Archibald, was a little too coquette for my tastes--at one point she mounts Hoffmann on a hay barrel--a little obvious, if you want my opinion. Oh, the French and their obsession with sex!

The Antoina act is one I always find a little tedious. I guess I have a hard time figuring out how singing would kill a woman with a weak heart, when singing is supposed to heal the body--yes, certain studies have come out showing that music has the power to heal!--however difficult I find the premise, I enjoyed the beautiful Ana María Martínez as Antonia. In fact, I think she was the best-cast and most talented of them all, considering the Antonia act is always too long, too boring, and smack in the middle (typically right before the intermission, when I'm trying to keep my bladder from bursting). As mentioned, the muse was great, too, but their roles are so utterly different, and the muse is almost, if not always, a role that's hard to turn sour.

As for Giulietta, interpreted by Sophie Koch: talk about a prima donna! She completely overshadowed poor Hoffmann, belting out her lines and then stood on the stage looking bored when she wasn't singing. There was very little finesse to her performance--I know Giulietta is supposed to be a femme fatale and a bit of a bitch, but it didn't seem like there was much acting going on.

The ending was all right, pretty standard. Hoffmann and the muse go off into the sunset with a bottle of wine under each arm (I thought maybe the muse should enroll him in AA). I love the message of the opera: that an artist will always have inspiration, which is just as good, if not better, than love. Makes me feel good about being a writer with no social life. 

Elle nous enterrera tous

A couple of weeks ago, one of my colleagues invited me to a play in La Ciotat. Ten euros and a sore butt later, I report:

It was the first time I've been to the theater since coming to France, and it was an amateur production--otherwise known as community theater--of a horror/comedy (?) called Elle nous eterrera tous. The play is about mistaken identity, murder, etc. It reminded me a lot of Arsenic and Old Lace, which I've seen probably about a dozen times. There's a 1944 film starring Cary Grant, which is fabulous. Also, my cousin was in a production when we were in high school. He's rather tall, so he played the imposing, Boris Karloff-type character.

This play, though similar, is about a woman who runs a flower shop in a small town in Provence. Her husband has left her years ago to raise three children alone. Then, one day a mysterious man shows up at their door. The children are grown, and the one boy, Abel, murders his father in a fit of rage, only to find out that his father had a twin brother--and his own brother Antoine, thought he did away with their dead-beat dad years ago in Italy!

It turns out none of this really matters. There are some slapstick moments (a private eye gets beaned in the head) and some poignant moments. Ultimately, it was a fun little romp, and very, very local. The friend I went with is from Brittany (northwestern France), and we both ended up having a hard time understanding certain passages. At least the play was not in Occitain (technically a different language, romance, in between French and Spanish)! That has been known to happen in these parts. Though, the language is an endangered one, unfortunately; people don't speak it at home as much as they used to, preferring French because it's more practical.

In sum, I don't know that I will go to another community theater production in La Ciotat, but never say never!

Lessons Learned?

The kids have been showing up regularly the past two weeks -- wahoo! Though it is only Tuesday...I have faith they'll be good from now on. There have been stragglers and no-shows, but not entire groups like before: me sitting in an empty room wondering why I got out of bed that morning to come sit in an empty room for three hours. Progress!

At the middle school, I'm in the classroom with the teacher, so that is virtually no problem. I've had to prepare more for these lessons, simplifying mostly, and switching topics every ten minutes (as opposed to every fifteen) for the lower level of the students. Teaching, it occurs to me, is sort of like trying to hit the sweet spot between what the students actually know and the magical test-level knowledge they are expected to acquire. It's like one of those crazy Venn diagrams used by stock traders.

I haven't been preparing much at the high school, since I only see each group once every four weeks. In fact, I've only done two lessons so far: the Introduction and Stereotypes. Interspersed with those, I've done itty bitty grammar lessons, like the use of adverbs (always, often, sometimes, rarely, never) showing habitual action, and past tense (and goodness, they could use the practice). I generally ask them how their weekend was.

This is all A2 level, so nothing ridiculously hard. Unfortunately, I'm finding myself using A LOT more French in class here than I used German in class while I was in Austria. Technically, we're supposed to be doing immersion with them, but if I'm talking slowly (like a snail) and repeating myself three or four times, I'm sorry--switching over! It's not like I can get in trouble. I have the kids in small groups, so there's no teacher, and who's going to rat me out? The kids? HA! I can't get fired anyway, so it's a moot point. I can basically do whatever I like, and what I like is to help them. It's really only a word here or there that I translate, either from a word I've already said in English, or a word they're searching for. If they ask me and not their friend, all the better. Because you know they'll chatter away with the friend about something completely unrelated, but I'll steer the topic back.

The one thing that has made me reconsider using French in the classroom at all is the other day when we did stereotypes. It was a group I'd already had (stereotypes is my lesson #2 in the arsenal) and we were talking about baguettes versus "American" bread, i.e. sliced bread. I tried to explain it six differed ways, but they didn't get it. "What don't you get?" I asked.

"Slice. What is 'slice'?"

"Slice is tranche in English."

"What?"

"Tranche"

Ensue torrent of giggles. Apparently I pronounced it wrong.

May I, in my defense, state that I have a cold? Nevertheless, I think their punishment will be TOTAL immersion from now on.

Dans La Maison

Around about a week ago, I went to the movies with Maria, the Spanish assistant, who is quite "cinematically" inclined. We've been sharing notes on out favorite silent-era stars. Mine, hands down, is Buster Keaton.

In the great French tradition of Maupassant, Balzac, Proust and horny teenage boys who fantasize about sleeping with their best friend's mother, Dans la maison is the new film from director François Ozon. The story of a high school French teacher encouraging a gifted writing student to explore his abilities in - rather than a novel - a mock exposé of la famille de la classe moyenne which become all too real when the feelings he wants to explore are those of his best friend's mom!

From Catherine Deneuve's role as creepy stalker-mom in Après lui to basically anything starring Isabelle Huppert, the French have a long cinematic history - and literary, but that's a different subject - of dealing with  older women and younger men, or quasi-incestuous relationships. I find those sorts of things to be ridiculous after a while.I mean, really, the 20-year-old guy is going to pursue a 50-year-old woman when he'd have an easier time sticking to girls his own age? Suuuuure. That's not to say older women are not sexy. Mesdemoiselles Deneuve and Huppert prove the contrary. But what sort of relationship potential do you have with a woman old enough to be your mother? And what does she see in you anyway? A hot bod can only do so much for rapport.

The point of Dans la maison, of course, is to parody all this by reducing the scenario to the absurd. The young boy, having finished his story with the family of his best friend (by bedding the mother, of course), moves on to his teacher's family, i.e. his wife (they have no children together). This slap in the face from a person the teacher had wished to inspire, and had so diligently mentored, is the height of the farce. And the craziest thing - the most Proustian thing - is that we never get to know whether this was all going on in the student's head, or if it really happened. French film at its finest!

Of Late, I Think of France

Me voici! New country -- new blog! I hope it is to everyone's satisfaction (especially my own)!

I will be living and teaching in the South of France this school year, after spending two years in Austria, and the change is welcome, but a bit sad at the same time. There are many wonderful things about Austria that I have already begun to miss terribly (and a few things I'll never miss, but that's a different story); as a learner of both German and French, I need to keep my fluency up before the likely step to a graduate program -- or a job where (I hope to goodness) I'll be using my bachelor's degree (I majored in languages).

I have high, but realistic, hopes for this year. Living abroad is always so variable, so unpredictable. Yet, for me, it is life-affirming as well as life-changing. I will try my darnedest to continue to shed quirky and original insight into teaching English to Europeans. It's a job I keep getting hired for, so what the heck?! I'll give it my all.

For those of you who followed my Austrian adventures, expect more of the same. For those who didn't -- where the hell have you been?!?! You missed a lot, but not everything.

Here's where I'll be honest: I'm expecting more followers this time around because Americans seem to know next to nothing about Austria (save The Sound of Music) but seem to all have a love affair (at the very least, a love-hate relationship) with France. Quel horreur it would be to disappoint, n'est-ce pas?